


Deleted scenes

by this_is_a_love_story (diner_drama)



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22923043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diner_drama/pseuds/this_is_a_love_story
Summary: I tiptoe down the corridor away from the guests and start to open the door, only to be met with a solid obstacle and a muffled, and very familiar, "fuck".Oh, fuck."Hi, sorry," he says sheepishly, opening the door wider. "I just needed a place to - oh, hi." He stops short when he notices who's at the door, and my brain goes blank for a second when I realise that he's not wearing a shirt.Jesus, that's a lot of muscles.
Relationships: Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 125





	Deleted scenes

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by user **galya_cvetkova** on Instagram, who commented: "That looks like deleted scene from the last episode where after the wedding ceremony he goes to change his clothes and Fleabag enters the room, finds him half naked and then this happens. (I'm crazy, I know.)" on [this post shared by the Fleabag Situation Podcast](https://www.instagram.com/p/B9Csih_BitV/).

The only place in the house where it's possible to have a quiet fag out the window with nobody noticing is the guest bedroom on the second floor, which looks out over an alleyway and is very rarely used. There's probably still half a spliff on the outside windowsill from when Boo and I used to sneak in here when we were kids to get high and make grand plans for the future.

Dad's wedding was lovely, really, but I just need a minute. Just one minute without the complications of my or anyone else's love life. Just one cigarette.

I tiptoe down the corridor away from the guests and start to open the door, only to be met with a solid obstacle and a muffled, and very familiar, "fuck".

Oh, fuck.

"Hi, sorry," he says sheepishly, opening the door wider. "I just needed a place to - oh, hi." He stops short when he notices who's at the door, and my brain goes blank for a second when I realise that he's not wearing a shirt.

Jesus, that's a lot of muscles. 

I realise it's usually his job to pin me up against walls, but I'm only human. I kick the door shut behind me and slam him against the bookshelf, my palms flat on those ridiculous shoulders, and then press my lips against his. My fingers tangle in his hair as he kisses me back just as fiercely, opening his mouth and gasping against my lips while he strokes the side of my cheek with one hand.

"We should probably be talking about-" he begins, not making any effort to stop kissing me.

"Yeah, probably," I agree, sitting down heavily on the sofa and pulling him on top of me. His hips grind against mine, filthy and full of promise, as he settles between my parted thighs and begins to press kisses against the corner of my mouth, along the line of my jaw, down my neck. My fingertips trail up the rippling muscle of his back and up over his neck, my blunt nails scratching at his scalp as I cradle his head.

I can distantly hear the sound of a lamp breaking as I arch my back, pressing my body more firmly into his embrace. His strong hands are gripping my ribcage, pulling me into him as I pant against the side of his face. My skirt is rucking up around my hips and I can feel the insistent pressure of his hard cock through his trousers.

"I don't suppose you brought any-" he begins, scraping his teeth over the junction between my neck and shoulder. 

He is rudely interrupted halfway through what I assume was going to be a question about condoms - there are three in a little pocket in my bra, obviously - by my wretched godmother calling from downstairs.

"Father? It's time for the receiving line!" she shrieks, like the clit-blocking pantomime villain she is.

He buries his face in my neck and lets out a long, frustrated breath. "On my way," he calls, and I hear her footsteps scurrying away. He raises his head to look at me forlornly and I can't help but bite his pouty lower lip, which doesn't help at all.

"You're a mess," I say fondly, trying to restyle his hair into some semblance of order, and wiping at his mouth with my thumb. There's probably more lipstick on his lips than mine at this point.

Reluctantly, he stands up and picks up his shirt from the dressing table. I help him with the buttons, for no reason other than to cop a feel, and then we stand with our foreheads pressed together for a long moment, sharing one breath.

"We just need to-" he says.

"Yep," I agree.

"And then we can talk about-"

I kiss him again, a lingering but chaste press of the lips - a promise. "Yeah."

"OK." He blows out a breath and fusses about my dress, straightening the hem and fastening a stray button on the front, then tucks my hair behind my ear.

"OK." I nod my head at the door. "I'll go and have a fag."

"I'll go and fucking... shake hands, or whatever."

I open the door a crack and peer out into the hallway, trying to ignore his warm, solid presence at my back.

"Coast's clear," I whisper unnecessarily, and we sneak out of the room on our tiptoes, heading off in separate directions. Once I get to the end of the corridor I pause for a second, struck with a sudden thought.

"I lo-" I begin to say, turning around, but he's already halfway down the stairs and out of earshot, off to perform his priestly duties.

It doesn't matter. I can always tell him later.


End file.
